The Potter Gift
by WynterRavenheart
Summary: Yes well... After James and Lily died, Harry wasn't the last Potter, he did, in fact, have family.


**A/N: **Just a little Idea I had, not sure if it will go any further than this or not (I hope so!) but don't hold your breath, I mean, I still got college to finish, and hours to complete. Unless my coordinator can, somehow, turn fanfiction into hours. But I doubt it.

**Tittle:** The Potter Gift

**Pairing:** No one at the moment.

**Summary:** Yes, well... After James and Lily died, Harry wasn't the last Potter, he did, in fact, have family.

**Warning:** Bad language in front of a minor.

**Disclaimer:** Not mine.

**The Potter Gift**

_"Well," said Dumbledore finally, "that's that. We've no business staying here. We may as well go and join the celebrations."_

_"Yeah," said Hagrid in a very muffled voice, "I'll be takin' Sirius his bike back. G'night, Professor McGonagall – Professor Dumbledore, sir."_

_Wiping his streaming eyes on his jacket sleeve, Hagrid swung himself onto the motorcycle and kicked the engine into life; with a roar it rose into the air and off into the night._

_"I shall see you soon, I expect, Professor McGonagall," said Dumbledore, nodding to her. Professor McGonagall blew her nose in reply._

_Dumbledore turned and walked back down the street. On the corner he stopped and took out the silver Put-Outer. He clicked it once, and twelve balls of light sped back to their street lamps so that Privet Drive glowed suddenly orange and he could make out a tabby cat slinking around the corner at the other end of the street. He could just see the bundle of blankets on the step of number four._

_"Good luck, Harry," he murmured. He turned on his heel and with a swish of his cloak, he was gone.*_

"Good luck my arse," another voice murmured. The man it belonged to was on the tall side, hair just as white as Albus Dumbledore's, he was holding a cane and clearly leaning on it. "That you have the gall to leave my grandson with muggles! Of all the senile things to do Albus Dumbledore!" He grumbled as he walked over the number four, leaning heavily on the cane, and then supporting it on his elbow to pick up the little boy.

"Harry James Potter," the stranger murmured, picking up the bundle of blankets and tsk-ing at the scar where Harry had been struck, "what a fine name you have my lad, why it reminds me of my own!" The man's grin widened as he limped out of the Number four, Privet Drive and entered the sleek black car suddenly waiting for him.

"Are you well, Master Potter?" The driver, Mr. Oewin, asked, peering curiously as the tall man entered the car.

"As well as can be expected, Oewin," Lord Harrigan Potter sighed as he eased in the backseat, Harry still sleeping in his arms, "the leg hurts, but there's nothing anyone can do about it."

"And the little Master?"

"Oh my, dear Lily would have a fit if she heard you calling her son like that," Harrigan smiled sadly, swallowing the bitter lump on his throat. He knew there was only one person who would be feeling just as bad as he was, and Harrigan was glad for that. Severus Snape, as far as he was concerned, deserved every single nightmare the dementors could give him, every strip of sanity they would steal, "Harry is fine, he has an ugly scar on his forehead, but as far as I can tell, nothing else was done to him."

"Should I call the healer?" The younger man inquired, peering through the mirror every now and then to look at the last of the Potters.

"Please do. Who knows what Voldemort did to my grandson? After the healer is done, write to Albus, I want to know exactly what that man was thinking when he left Harry like that. Did you see it? On a fuc-" he cleared his throat, peering at Harry, "on a damn doorstep! With only a letter as explanation!"

Mr. Oewin, for his part, decided to ignore most of what his employer said, "should I use the Potter signet ring?"

"Yes, let's see what Albus makes of that!"

It was at that moment that a slight whimper came from the bundle in Harrigan's arms, and a tiny fist was suddenly waving very, very near Harrigan Hyacinth Potter's nose. Followed by a whine and the smell of baby poop, to which Harrigan could say nothing but mutter, "precocious little lad, aren't you?" To which Mr. Oewin just hid a laugh.

TBC

*Harry Potter and the Philosopher's Stone


End file.
